As Ilsa stalked through the house, cursing Eliot to keep from cursing herself, the sickly scent of flowers she had left behind in the garden returned. She was outside Hester’s rooms, and the door was ajar. Tentatively, she pushed it open. A faint breeze was tickling the lace curtains and wafting the strong aroma of too many floral arrangements – and an undertone of whisky and stale cigarette smoke – throughout the room.
It had been nine weeks since the attack that had injured Hester, and she showed no signs of wanting to re-join the world beyond her suite, let alone lead the Changelings. She was stretched out on a loveseat by the open window, a book balanced in one hand. She didn’t look surprised to glance up and see Ilsa in the doorway.
“You got a lot of flowers in here,” said Ilsa, wrinkling her nose.
Hester glanced around at the arrangements – some fresh, some browning – with mild disgust. “Fliss keeps bringing them. I roll my eyes every time, but I can never bear to have her toss out the dying ones.”
Ilsa raised an eyebrow. “You can’t bear it? I don’t mean no offence, but you don’t strike me as the sensitive sort.”
“Why on earth would that offend me? I’m not. But I can’t help thinking of how much life they have, how much character. And yet they’re just dying things. It’s sort of pathetic.”
Her voice never faltered, but her face gave her away. She scowled at Ilsa like she had forced a confession from her. As if to change the subject she gazed pointedly out of the window, and quirked her brow. “But what am I saying? You’re very fond of flowers.”
She was only on the first page of her book, and her reading glasses lay abandoned on the end table. She must have been looking out the window – at her view of the rose garden. Ilsa cleared her throat to change the subject.
“P’raps I should ask you ’bout Gedeon too,” she said, lowering herself into a chair. “’Bout him leaving.”
Hester sighed. “Cassia warned me you would come creeping.” She pulled herself into a more upright position, warning Ilsa with a severe flick of her hand not to dare try and assist her. “But as far as insight goes, I can say only that I don’t share in the lieutenants’ shock. This is not as out of character for Gedeon as they wilfully believe.”
Hester’s tone – sure and superior – riled her. “You sure ’bout that? ’Cause it ain’t the impression I got from everyone else. They say he’s selfless. And caring.”
“Oh, very. And do either of those traits preclude what he’s done, whatever that is? I’m certain he believes fully that it is right. Selfless and caring, just as you say.” She paused, and shot Ilsa a patronising look, like the conclusion was obvious. “But there’s no denying it’s also foolish. That, cousin dearest, is why I am unsurprised. It is well within Gedeon’s nature to act first and think later.”
“But he planned to leave, din’t he? Aelius has got that note from one of the wolves—”
“Yes, he planned it,” said Hester with an impatient wave of her hand. “Yes, it would have taken time and organisation. But reflection? A modicum of doubt? Do not underestimate the fools like your brother. They can achieve a great deal without thinking.”
It seemed unfair, but it was also unfair for Ilsa to tell her she was wrong; she couldn’t vouch for someone she had never met. And yet…
“Well the Changelings love him,” she said. “I was in Camden the other night, and the kids were playing games where they pretended to be Gedeon. They tell stories ’bout him.”
“Of course they love him. He’s their kind, smiling prince. He remembers their names and sympathises with their concerns. Gedeon makes people feel valued. He makes people love him. It’s his gift.” Her lip curled cruelly and she looked away. “It’s a nice touch in a leader, but a useless one.”
Ilsa doubted it was useless, but she wasn’t about to tell her cousin that. “That ain’t why. It’s because he’s brave. He saved a pregnant woman and her husband when they were kidnapped.”
Hester laughed. “Bren and Diana Luckett. They campaigned to have Gedeon replace me before he came of age after his little stunt.”
Her voice was bright, her smile was wide, and still Hester couldn’t disguise the edge in her words. Ilsa didn’t think she was trying to. “They din’t mention that,” she said weakly.
“And did they mention how many more people their brave alpha-to-be saved before he killed five wolves in a rescue gone wrong?” Now the pretence at humour was gone. Her voice cut like a hot blade, fury burning behind her hazel eyes. Ilsa felt her stomach sink lower in her abdomen. “Did they mention that the alpha they wanted so desperately pays his ransoms now, and only sometimes succeeds in finding the culprits later? Did they mention how many more of our people have been snatched from their homes since Gedeon started rescuing them? Ask Cassia how much his caring and selflessness costs us, how much less the wolves earn while dying for him.”
“But he’s the alpha. It’s his job to help people,” said Ilsa stubbornly, even as the doubts piled down on her.
“This is London. Death and hardship are built into it like the stones in its streets,” Hester said, determination in her features. “A faction leader’s job is to swing the pendulum in her people’s favour as often as she can, with as little damage as possible and as much of her conscience as she can afford to keep.” She sighed, softening. “Your brother’s heart is always in the right place. But one does not lead two hundred thousand people with one’s heart, cousin dearest.”
As brutal and dispassionate as it was, what Hester said made
